


Seven Devils

by GirlDressedInBlack



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25799578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlDressedInBlack/pseuds/GirlDressedInBlack
Summary: Sometimes the enemy is yourself and to survive you have to force yourself to be better, no matter what. Tws for blood, death and violence
Kudos: 8





	Seven Devils

The smoke which fills the room is thick, tinged brown, and it creeps along the floor.

There are no alarms- not here.

The Mistress smiles.

It's not like she has to breathe.

And all she has to do is speed up enough that things can slow right down. It is convenient, sometimes, how personal time is.

She knows that she will survive but she is not shutting down, not retreating into her mind.

She needs action right now, not answers.

There are three guards here, two others, members of the council who will not oppose her, and then him, on that throne, smoke bomb still streaking between them.

She has a blade in her hand, discreet, tucked against her palm just like last time, it slices at the guards neck, nicking a thin but deep line through vital arteries which spurt blood through the smog.

They had no chance, had moved only fractionally away before she was on them.

They begin to fall as the one to her right tries to stab her with their polearm.

She uses that, thinks fast, grabs it, turns around it, holds the person from behind, blade sliding between ribs and then out again, down, across their stomach.

Blood blooms, dripping heat, pooling out as she snatches the bladed pole they flail with in surprise, grip already loosening in the beginning of shock.

It passes under the ribs of the third, pitching them upwards as they are carried, blade not passing through the back.

Blood runs down the blade, around the pole, down.

She hears the spatter of blood, feels it on her skin, sticky, wet, warm, as she turns, spins, kicks the device out of his hands and steps back to be out of reach and holds the spear a breath away from his throat.

And then-

She slows down, lets her body rest, lets her mind go.

The smoke is still thick but clearing.

The people she's downed gurgle and groan, leaking their contribution across the tiles, a growing shadow.

Blood beads on the blade against a neck darker than her own and her voice is like velvet as they swallow and she smirks, purring.

"Get off my throne."

"No one will listen." He growls back at her, "They're loyal to me out there." He jerks a thumb at his own chest somewhat violently. The circles around his eyes are dark and the Mistress smiles, sickly sweet.

"Oh, really?" She chuckles, grazing the blade upwards slightly. He backs away, in the direction she wants, tension still running through him and fists clench as he gets closer to the stairs leading away from his coveted throne.

She wonders, just a little, if she could shave him a little with the blade so far from her. The Time Lady chuckles.

"Well. They can try."

There's silence between them, both of them breathing raggedly.

Missy can't help but think he's a bit of a waste, having decided to be evil in the end. With eyes like those he would have looked very good beside the Doctor.

"You know that I'm you, don't you?" He asks, voice low.

The Mistress raises an eyebrow and sighs.

"Oh. Oh dear." She tutts.

"I'm sorry but you went back on all the work I'd done to be better. All the things we tried to do, all wasted." She shakes her head.

"I'm sorry but you don't get that privilege anymore. I have no future until further notice." She says, shrugging a little, enough to raise the point of the blade beneath the softest part of his chin.

He breathes heavily through his nose and she smiles again.

"Now. I would advise you leave and think about what you've done, hm?" She advises.

The Master waits a moment then turns on his heel, sprinting down the long hallway to the room she's in now, standing before the throne, three bodies beneath her and blood on her clothes.

"So." She says to the two people left, "You should tell everyone the good news."

* * *

If she slips away in the chaos of celebration so they have to choose their own leader perhaps it's enough to make up for the mess he caused when he took over.


End file.
